TECHNICALLY, IT'S KNOWN AS A SASQROTCH

Time once again to take a preventive antibiotic suppository and slither into the increasingly toxic Bargain Basement of Dooooom. This week, we’re heading west from our underground Scottish lair, but maintaining our latitude, on a visit to Canada’s finest: ALPHA FLIGHT (vol.1). Admittedly, this doesn’t quite fit this column’s penny-pinching remit, given that a couple of the early issues (especially #11 and #12) are fairly desirable. But still, most of them can be bought for beans. Canadian beans.  

Our first sighting of Alpha Flight came in Uncanny X-Men #109, way back in 1978, when Guardian (then known as Weapon Alpha, later Vindicator), the team leader, interrupted a picnic to forcibly return Wolverine to Canada. Nobody likes a ruined picnic, particularly not the X-Men, and Guardian was unceremoniously sent back oop north alone. A year or so later, in #120, the X-Men are stranded in Montreal and we finally meet Alpha Flight for the first time, as they try once again to retrieve their unwitting former comrade.

Both of these issues were pencilled by comics titan and legendarily difficult human being John Byrne. As an aside, he is the man who is largely responsible for Wolverine’s ubiquity. Early in the life cycle of the post-Giant-Size X-Men #1 team, Wolverine was not popular with readers or creators, and was in line to be killed off. For Byrne, a child of the north, it was a deal-breaker that the team included a Canadian. He then went on to almost single-handedly turn Wolverine into the star of the book (especially with #133 – but that’s a story for a more profligate column).

In 1983, Alpha Flight got their own title. Byrne, at that time busy with his own massively successful Fantastic Four title, somewhat reluctantly (surprising, given his forthright attitude towards representing his country) took on the title as writer and artist, and remained on board for the first 28 issues – not coincidentally, the only issues of Alpha Flight you really need. The initial lineup comprised Vindicator/Guardian in his maple leaf-adorned electro-magnetic battlesuit, magician Shaman, demi-god Snowbird, speedster twins Northstar and Aurora and man-monster Sasquatch. As first issues go, Alpha Flight #1 starts in a remarkably downbeat manner. The team’s funding and government backing has been withdrawn, and the opening splash features a redundant Guardian (James Macdonald Hudson) standing, despondent, in the shell of the headquarters he must now vacate. The team is in tatters, scattered across the country and facing an uncertain future, before a heedless John Lennon-looking imbecile summons a colossal (seriously, kaiju-scale) monster called Tundra, and everyone is called in to help, including some new recruits who never got the chance to be activated: amphibian Marrina and diminutive acrobat Puck.

From here on in, it’s a wild, strange ride. In only the second issue, Marrina rips open Puck’s guts, which leads to a confrontation with former Neanderthal/would-be conqueror The Master and a guest appearance from Namor and the Invisible Woman. Bizarrely, Byrne chooses to completely derail the team’s story at a very early stage, with issues #5–10 being solo tales for some of the key members. When they reconvene in #11 and #12, it’s for a deadly showdown with their arch-enemies Omega Flight, the ending of which was shocking then and still pretty traumatic even now.

What’s interesting about the weird, fractured structure of these first 12 issues is that it’s essentially a post-mortem. Alpha Flight, Canada’s premier super-team, have had their day. They’re past their prime, defunct, unnecessary. But, outside of three old X-Men issues, their supposedly illustrious history is never shown, barely even alluded to – Byrne doesn’t bother to build them up before he knocks them down. We begin with the team’s desolation, enjoy a brief revitalisation, then everyone goes their separate ways, only to reconvene for some punch-in-the-guts tragedy. It should feel hollow, but it works. It’s the diffuse, cobbled-together nature of the book that gives it its unique atmosphere. The characters subsequently began to cohere a little more as a team, but they would remain a fairly loose assembly until after Byrne left the book.

Alpha Flight is not so much a super-team book as a character study of a group of people, some of whom intensely dislike each other or are at best indifferent, who are perpetually down on their luck and plagued by myriad personal problems. Aurora suffers from a split personality; Northstar is an arrogant bastard, Olympic-level sports cheat and protective of his sister to a fault; Puck’s lovable rogue persona masks his constant pain and unrequited love for Guardian’s wife Heather; Sasquatch is losing control of the monstrous side of his being; Snowbird is rootless, caught between the worlds of men and gods; Marrina disembowels her team-mates without warning, without knowing why; Shaman, seemingly one of the few well-adjusted members, has a daughter who hates him, and for whose horrifying fate he would ultimately be responsible. As for James Hudson – a scientist rather than a leader or warrior – he’s the poor sap charged with bringing together this band of misfits. As the series goes on, his wife Heather takes an increasingly central role, and ultimately ends up with the heaviest burdens to shoulder.

For all the dubious attitudes that have become apparent in Byrne’s later years, there are two interesting socio-political aspects of early Alpha Flight: First, the development of Heather Hudson from an appealing but everyday supporting character to an extremely strong and competent (if powerless) leader of a bunch of metahumans, echoing the role played by Storm over in X-Men at the time. There’s an argument to be made for the at least feminist-lite leanings of young Byrne. No, really. His run as X-Men penciller, in which he was said to contribute heavily to storylines, was full of strong female characters (although, admittedly, this is something Claremont always excelled at too). In FF, Byrne took the underpowered, devalued and patronisingly named Invisible Girl and made her into the Invisible Woman – the most powerful member of the team (even if the traumatic means by which he did so were questionable at best). He also introduced She-Hulk to the team and established her as a strong, multi-layered, fan-favourite character (even if, both in FF and her solo series, he was very quick to use her sex appeal as a crutch – or even a flimsy plot point). However, although I’d argue that Byrne made a significant contribution to improving the representation of women in comics, he also inflicted his share of damage, all too quick to resort to objectification and sexualised violence. 

Secondly, and less equivocally, the subtle, sensitive treatment of Northstar’s sexuality. Due to the twin conservative twattery of the Comics Code Authority and Jim Shooter’s editorial mandates, Northstar was not allowed to come out as openly gay until #106 (1992). However, reading between the lines, Byrne makes his orientation entirely clear as early as #7 (1984), in which it’s strongly implied that Northstar’s old friend Raymonde Belmonde was a very dear friend indeed. Despite not being allowed to depict homosexuality, Byrne did so anyway, under the radar, presenting a mature relationship characterised by affection, respect and tenderness in way that’s in no way sensationalist or prurient or judgemental. 

All of Byrne’s run is worth a look, but those first 12 issues are one of the great comic runs as far as I’m concerned, not only for their curiously disjointed narrative arc, but for the strength of storytelling and characterisation. And not least, for the art. For a good few years, Byrne was perhaps the biggest comic-art superstar since Jack Kirby. His run on X-Men revealed him to be a major talent, his pencils extremely physical and robust, yet capable of great subtlety and powerful character moments. For me, his work on Alpha Flight, as much as he is said to be not fond of the series, is some of his best. The scene in #1 where Sasquatch attacks Tundra with the ferocity of a feral beast, but the effectiveness of a dormouse attacking a rhino, is one of the great underplayed fight scenes.

In fact, any time Sasquatch is on panel is a delight, as Byrne really conveys both his bestial power and his genius-level intelligence. Plus, he’s basically naked apart from the fact that he has a built-in hairy loincloth. One stiff breeze and the Comics Code Authority stamp would go up in flames. Byrne’s designs for the clothed members of the team are really well thought-out, too – each of the original lineup has his or her own individual costume, but on closer inspection all share complementary maple-leaf-inspired design elements. Byrne was also pretty damn audacious (or possibly contemptuous) – pressed for time with Fantastic Four duties, he set the sixth issue’s fight scene between Snowbird and Arctic beast Kolomaq in a blizzard, resulting in five pages that are entirely white except for sound effects and dialogue.

Following Byrne’s departure, Alpha Flight ran until #130, amazingly, with precious little to recommend in that time. Three more volumes came and went, to very little fanfare. Characters left and joined and lived and died and were resurrected, but that curious, dysfunctional Byrne magic was never again recaptured. 

(a shorter version of this article was originally published on The Big Glasgow Comic Page)